Shelaid her head back against his shoulder. His shirt smelled of hanging on a linein the sun, and his neck, stubbly with a day’s dark growth, smelled of OldSpice. Warm, comforting, familiar. It made her want to believe everything hesaid, sap that she was. Had the blaze of anger that had raged against Adriangone out so soon?
“Okay,”she relented. Apparently it had. Damn.
After afew beats, he whispered in her hair. “C’mon. Let’s put you to bed.”
Clangingalarm bells should have stopped her, but she let Beckett lead her into herbedroom, lift her covers, tuck her in after she slid beneath, and kiss the topof her head. Her heart fluttered a tic, followed by a sharp coil of shametwisting in her gut at the thought of wanting to haul him down beside her.
“I’llbe on the couch if you need me.” He flipped off her lamp.
Shesnuggled into her pillow and awoke in the same position the next morning to thesound of an engine starting. She sat up and peered out the window in time toglimpse Beckett’s truck pull away from the curb. A little pang ofdisappointment zapped her. On the coffee table was a scrawled note:
Callme if you need anything.
Andmy offer to wreck him still stands.
B.
Sheglanced around at neatened sofa cushions and straightened pillows. In thekitchen stood an empty cup under the coffee dispenser, along with a neon-orangesticky note with an arrow pointing at the machine’s start button. Above thearrow, Beckett’s scrawl urged her to “Push it good!” so she did, watching dark,steamy liquid gush into the cup. He’d even laid out a measure of half-and-halfand a clean spoon. Her heart melted. How did he know?
Betweensips, she made a list. Then she pulled out suitcases, boxes, and trash bags.
.~ * * * ~.
“Paige, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach yousince I boarded in Vancouver,” Adrian’s peeved voice said over the phone. Shehadn’t answered his few calls and texts. In fact, she hadn’t spoken toanyone—not even Gwenn. She’d only responded to Beckett’s texts asking how shewas, if she needed company, how packing Adrian’s things was coming. And onewhere he asked if she wanted him, once again, to “knock him into next week,”turning her heart into a bigger puddle. A man standing up for her, running todefend her. Too bad that man wasn’t her husband.
Shepulled in an enormous, silent breath and braced herself. “Was that after yourmorning cruise with your English companion? I hope you enjoyed celebrating yourone-year anniversary.”
Deadsilence.
Shecould practically hear Adrian’s gears grinding, smoke pouring from them as theysnapped off.
“Whatare you talking about?”
The angershe thought had retreated came thundering back. “Wow! You have some nerve,sounding pissed off at me, you lying son of a bitch!”
“Paige,I’m at DIA. I’m coming home. Now’s not the time for this,” he ground out.
“Oh no?And just when is the time for this, Adrian? On our fifth wedding anniversary?Our twentieth? On second thought, you’re absolutely right. There is no time forthis. I’m done. I tried to sort out your most important shit from the restof your shit. It’s on the front porch. If you don’t pick it up in two days, I’mdonating it. I’ll box the rest and get it to you. And don’t bother with yourkey. I changed the locks. Goodnight, asshole.”
“Wait,Pai—” she heard him yell as she hit the red button on her phone.
Somethingakin to panic, mixed with a full dose of exhilaration and a boatload ofadrenaline, swamped her. Her breathing came rapidly. She pumped a fist in theair.
Herphone buzzed again, and she silenced Adrian. She knocked back half a glass ofchardonnay, then picked up her phone and tapped a message to Beckett. Didit!
Utold him?
Yep.
Goodgirl.
Thanksfor your support.
Anytime.I mean it.
Theadrenaline quickly dissipated, and her euphoria was missing in action an hourlater when Adrian’s Cayenne pulled up outside. Oh no, oh no, oh no! Shedoused the living room light and snuck into her darkened office, peering fromher window. He stood, hands on hips, inspecting two suitcases, a stack ofboxes, and three black trash bags on the porch. Then he shook his head and staredat the door.
“I knowyou’re in there,” he huffed. Just like the big, bad wolf. “Would youopen the door so we can talk?”
Shecrept to the front door and leaned her cheek against it. “What for?”
Twobeats. “I want to explain.”
Shewrenched the door open, surprising them both. “Explain what, you connivingcreep? Why you’ve been fucking someone else for the last year? While youwere fucking your wife? Give me a break, Adrian, and get the hell out of mysight. The only way I’m speaking to you is through a divorce attorney.” She wason tiptoes, stabbing the air with her finger.
Herocked a step back, his eyes wide. “I only saw her a few times, I swear. Shelives in the UK, and it was a mistake after too many cocktails one night, andthen it just kind of …” He pulled a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t meananything to me, Paige.” His voice broke, as if he were pleading.
Paigefolded her arms across her chest. “God, you’re a pathetic cliché, Adrian. Andthat’s even worse,” she growled. “You used her, and you lied to me. What doesthat make you? No one I want in my life.”
“Paigey—”
“Oh myGod! Stop calling me that! I hate it!”
Hestared at her as though she’d slapped him. She raised an eyebrow. Slowly, heran his hand over his chin.
“Isuppose now you’re going with Mr. Rich Playboy Hockey Player.” A bitter smiletwisted his mouth.
“Don’ttry to make yourself feel better by accusing me of what you’ve been doing! Andwhat in the hell does he have to do with this, with us?” She swept her handback and forth between them. “Nothing!” And he’s not rich, you jerk. He’swiped out. Adrian would never hear it from her. It would wound Beckett’spride, which she was wholly moved to protect in that moment.
“Besides,you’re the one who pushed me into representing him. And why would Itrade a cheater for a player?” Her breaths were coming fast and ragged again,and she willed herself to slow them.
Adrian’sbrown
